Page 13 of Bottle Rocket
“I bet you and I could have lots of experiences in that time. Give me six days, no strings.”
“Are you saying you want to help me with the Summer of Rosie?” she asked.
“Yes. I do.” He slid his hands up under her top to rest lightly on her sides.
“That can be arranged.”
“Come inside with me, Rosie.” His voice dropped to a deep, gravelly growl. It hit her in the gut … if her gut was about a foot lower and located in her pussy.
“Lead on.”
Leo held her hand as they entered the Airstream. He flipped a light on. The inside was unexpected. She’d pictured flowered polyester booths and cheap wood paneling and yellow light. Or maybe lots of black leather and dark wood and stainless steel. Instead, the space was light and airy, minimalistic, and full of pastels and fresh flowers. The rounded ceiling was covered in pale wood. A big bed took up one end of the trailer and a lounge area with cushy bench seats dominated the other. There was a tiny galley kitchen and a bathroom in between.
“Wow.” She turned in a circle, trying to take everything in at once. The whole trailer was designed with usability and space saving in mind. It was great but also highlighted everything that had ever pulled her and Leo apart. He could put his bike in the back of this baby and follow his heart to the next KOA campground. Her heart needed more consistency than that. She was a nester.
But she still wanted to fuck Leo until he couldn’t walk.
“I don’t show my place to many people.”
“Why not?”
“It’s kind of personal in here. My sanctuary, I guess you could say. My constant. And also my studio. I don’t want other people’s energy to screw it up for me.”
That sounded like woo-woo artist talk, but she understood. She’d had to move out of her and Landon’s home, even though she could have stayed after he’d left, because bad memories followed her around.
“Is my energy going to mess it up?” she asked.
“No. Your energy is turning me on. I trust you.”
If those weren’t the sexiest words in the universe … “I trust you too.” A tiny shelf stacked with coffee table books caught her eye. She grabbed the book on top and almost dropped it as a parade of realizations walloped her at once. “My sister owns this book.”
The cover was a vibrant and very detailed illustration of a topless pinup girl. She was jacked, her arms strong and ripped, and she had a prosthetic leg. The author of the book was listed as Whittaker.
“Oh my God, this is yours. That never occurred to me.”
“You didn’t know how I made my living.”
That was true. The erotic-art thing had been quite the surprise.
She flipped through the book. The images were retro with a modern twist, cheeky and fun and hot. The subjects were of diverse genders, ages, races, and body types.
“So when did you start making art?”
Leo peeked at the book in her hands, fond smile on his face. She stared at his lip ring. What would that feel like when they kissed?
“I took a class to teach me how to draw caricatures for tourists. I needed cash, and tourists are easy marks, but then I loved it. I worked a bunch of part-time jobs until I had enough money to go to art school. Took out student loans. Asked my parents for a loan on top of that, which they reluctantly gave me.”
Leo’s parents had been less than thrilled that he’d taken off for the West Coast to be a musician, and she imagined they had not been happy about art school either. They’d expected him to follow in their footsteps by opening restaurants and hotels and country clubs.
“Did they know this was the type of art you wanted to make?”
“No. But neither did I. Not at the time. They don’t understand it, and they don’t need to. We’re cool now. I paid them back. I visit once a year, and every so often they meet me in cool places.”
Rosie put down the first book and picked up the next in the stack. It was also his work, but the cover was a painting. Maybe watercolors? She didn’t know her art well enough to be able to say for sure. It was less stylized, softer, and intimate. Loving. The word popped into her head unbidden.
“That one’s not out yet,” Leo said abruptly. “That book.”
“This is beautiful.” She traced a finger over the cover. It showed a white man in a shower, his backside on full display. One of his hands was up on the shower wall in front of him, the other was seemingly on his cock. He had dog tags thrown over his shoulder, dangling between his shoulder blades. Everything was this gorgeous washed-out blue color and certain places were marred by water spots as if Leo had been there in the shower with the man and droplets had reached his canvas. “Is this a real person?”
